Bereaved of Light: Unseen Moments
by emeraldphan
Summary: Based on my story, Bereaved of Light. The little boy in the mask is growing up... What will become of the little family under the Opera House? Possibly the first chapter in a series. Based on the Charles Dance version.
1. Chapter 1

The boy always had a song in his head.

At mealtimes he would tap his fingers or his knife on the table in an improvised rhythm until Gerard could bear it no longer. During the day, as he played with his toys, he would sing or hum an aria from the operas he heard or perhaps an old folk tune that his guardian had taught him, sometimes improving it with his own harmonies. At night his fingers would tap on the pillow or the counterpane, even while Gerard read to him or tried to engage him in conversation about the people he met in the Opera House.

By the age of twelve he was composing his own music while his guardian looked on in admiration and astonishment.

"You know the de Chagny family?" Gerard asked him one day, as Erik hastily scribbled out several bars of the notation he had just written. He nodded vaguely without even looking up.

"You've heard me talking about their two girls, haven't you? Veronique plays the piano and Marie Louise likes reading, just like you do. They must be ten and eight by now - Erik, are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry Uncle…" he replied distractedly, tapping out yet another rhythm which was refusing to take shape in his head or on the sheet.

"Well, they have a new baby brother! His name is Philippe and he is a fine, healthy child, thank God. M. de Chagny was at the gala dinner last night and he was telling me himself. He is very happy, as you can imagine. That's great news, isn't it?"

"Yes… I suppose…"

"I wonder what the girls will make of him? They seem happy enough at the moment but I hope they don't become jealous."

Erik frowned at his sheet and scribbled out some more notes.

Behind him, Gerard peered over his shoulder, trying to read what his son was writing, but he curled his arm around his work protectively. Sighing, his guardian got up and walked over to the fire to place some more logs on it.

Turning around, he bit on his lip and walked back to Erik with his head down.

"The other reason I'm telling you this is…" Gerard began, sitting beside the child once more. Erik crumpled up the sheet of paper in frustration and looked up.

"Perhaps you could try again later?" Gerard suggested tentatively.

"Maybe," he replied curtly, crossing his arms. It was better than his usual tantrum when he couldn't figure something out, his father supposed.

"Well..." he began again, "What I was trying to tell you was that the de Chagny's will be having a party to welcome their new arrival next Saturday. The christening will be only for family members, you see, and they wanted to have a party for all their friends first. It will be held at their home, of course. And…I've been invited, which is a great honour for me and I feel it would be rude to refuse."

Erik simply looked at him, those eyes peering out impassively from behind the mask.

"The problem is…I have a feeling that it will go on all day. You will be all right on your own, won't you?"

"Of course. I have my music."

"Yes, of course you do. And your books."

"Yes," he replied quietly, "May I please be excused?"

Gerard assented and watched a little anxiously as the boy sat down beside the fire with a book, but he did not have time to linger too long.

There were rehearsals going on today and after he had cleared their dishes away he went to his room to get ready to go above and oversee them. Once he was dressed in his formal attire, he stood before the mirror to inspect himself. His hair was neatly combed, his trademark white bow tie was straight and he was no longer Uncle but Gerard Carriere once more. But he could not shake off that niggling feeling that Erik was already retreating into another world, one that the child could not, or would not, share with him. What went on in that head of his? He was only twelve and already he seemed to know far more than he should. What would the next few years bring?

oOo

During that long, lonely day Erik made his way into his "uncle's" room. Standing in front of the mirror, he slowly untied the strings of his new mask and slipped it away from his face. For a moment he fingered the soft leather and thought about how he would make his own masks some day. Steeling himself, he looked into the mirror.

He did not scream or cry any more when he saw his face but his heart still gave a jolt when his eyes beheld those terrible features. _Why?_ He thought to himself once more. _Why do I look like this?_

Gerard did not know this but a few weeks previously he had sneaked Above to spy on that other world and the perfect looking people that seemed to inhabit it. He had enjoyed listening in on some of the conversations but it infuriated him to hear people with normal faces being described as "plain". What he wouldn't give to be merely plain!

Before he left the room, he stood in front of the portrait of his mother. He no longer remembered her as a human being, merely as a dream, but he loved her nonetheless and liked to look upon her occasionally when he was alone. Gerard rarely spoke of her and so his imagination would try to fill in the yawning gaps in his knowledge of this beautiful woman whose voice still haunted him. As he stood there, he wondered again why Uncle Gerard looked after him. He had explained to him once that sometimes children call their parents friends "Auntie" or "Uncle" but that was because of a character in a book called "Uncle Pierre", not because Erik had asked specifically about his own family. But the moment of wondering passed, as it always did, and he whispered a goodbye to his mother before slipping out of the room.

oOo

"Well, you are lucky you were at home and not at that dreadful party", Gerard told his son as he sat by his bedside, something he did not do very often these days.

"Why?"

"Oh, the food was terrible and the musicians they hired were total amateurs; you would have laughed at them. I felt embarrassed for them, really. It was a long day with lots of waiting around, talking to people I didn't really know and with all those noisy children, I could hardly hear myself-"

He stopped, and silently cursed his stupidity.

"There were children there?" Erik asked quietly.

"Well, yes, all Philippe's cousins mainly, and his sisters of course, and a few of their close friends…No-one you would have got along with, I can assure you. Now, tell me what you got up to while I was out."

"Did they play together?"

"Er, yes, they did, the girls' nanny took them outside and they played for a while but then it started raining," he told him truthfully. The boy looked down at the blanket, his face still covered by the mask. He did not say anything for a few moments and Gerard wondered if he should leave him alone. He really would have to stop sitting by Erik's bedside like this.

"I missed you today, Uncle."

Gerard sighed.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes I have to go to these silly things. The de Chagny's spend a lot of time here and they probably thought they had to invite me. But cheer up, Erik. The two of us will go up on the roof tomorrow, how does that sound?"

Erik nodded silently. Pulling the blanket around him, he slowly lay down in his bed and Gerard wished him a good night before leaving the room to allow his son remove his mask.

_How much longer can I placate him with treats and baubles? Soon he will no longer be a child…_

In his own bed, he thought not only of the half-truths he had told Erik but of the spoilt, noisy children at the party and how they had teased one of their group over his birthmark. And he thought of how Erik would never play among children his own age or go to school with them, and of beautiful little Philippe who was so loved by his family.

And in the darkness, Erik fought back his tears, knowing the lonely future that lay ahead for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is a bit different but hopefully it will make sense in the context of the story. Please read and review!**

"Well, I don't care what you say, I think he's very handsome," Celine insisted as she crammed her brown curls under her hat.

"Honestly, Celine, he's old enough to be your father! Haven't you found anyone our age to fawn over yet?" Adele replied. The two of them were glad to be finishing their long shift in the costume department and were eager to get home for their dinner. Working in the Opera House had seemed like such an exciting prospect at first but it was turning out to be much harder than they had thought.

"I know, but he's the _manager_! Imagine being courted by the manager!"

"I don't think he's going to be interested in apprentice seamstresses like us," Adele told her wryly as they walked out of the room together and down the corridor.

"He doesn't have to be interested in _us_, just in me," Celine replied, blushing. The two of them giggled, attracting attention from a group of young stagehands who were passing by.

"Anyway," she continued, "He always seems so lonely. I wonder why he isn't married? At least I assume he isn't; he never wears a ring and I haven't heard anyone talk about a Madame Carriere yet." She sighed wistfully. "He seems so mysterious, doesn't he? I'd love to get to know him better and tell him that he doesn't have to be lonely any more."

Adele rolled her eyes. Her old school friend was a born romantic and there seemed to be no cure for it. She seemed determined to find out all she could about M. Carriere, a person Adele respected but did not have any romantic feelings for whatsoever. She was much more interested in boys her own age, of which there were plenty at the Opera House. At the entrance, they bid goodnight to their colleagues before setting off for the tram together as they usually did, but Celine would not be deterred from her favourite subject.

"I've heard this rumour about him and this young dancer who became a famous singer. She had an odd name, Bella something. Anyway, Frederique told me that they were…well..." Celine leaned in close to the other girl. "They were...lovers, long ago."

"Oh, I've heard that rumour myself. Her name was Belladora." Adele liked knowing more than anyone else and was already making it her business to find out all the gossip in the Opera House, even in the few weeks they had worked there.

"But there's more to it than that," Celine continued, determined not to be outdone, "Apparently they were madly in love, even after she became famous and then one day she disappeared. Ran away, just like that."

"Ran away? How did Frederique know that?"

""Somebody told her, I forget who, but he heard it from Jean Claude, and Jean Claude knows M. Carriere better than anyone. Frederique thinks she ran off to England with a wealthy earl. There are always lots of English earls and lords and things around the Opera House, you know, and she must have had lots of admirers. Maybe she didn't want to marry a poor stagehand?"

"But that's terrible."

"Yes it is, isn't it? And to make it worse, he heard a few years later that she had died, just after he became the manager, I think."

"Died? How?"

"I have no idea, but M. Carriere never got married and hasn't courted a lady since then. They say it's all because he's still in love with this Belladora person. I think it's so romantic…" Celine sighed again but her friend looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Maybe you should stop reading all those silly novels," she replied.

"I've just thought: maybe he wanted to become the manager to try and make himself worthy of her?" Celine persisted.

Much to Adele's relief, their tram pulled up at that very moment and as it was too busy for them to sit together she was spared any more of her friend's romantic speculations.

When they arrived for work the next morning, their overseer Madame Mercier was more brusque with them than usual and all the girls were trying to avoid her as much as possible. Frederique told them that a large quantity of costumes had gone missing during the night, mainly shirts, trousers and, most intriguingly, a cloak, and Madame was trying to place an order for material to replace them. Apparently M. Carriere had readily agreed to extend her budget and told her not to worry about it, that he would take care of everything. During their lunch hour the three girls bought sandwiches from a nearby stall and ate them in the park as they discussed this latest development.

"Well, they say it's the work of the ghost," Frederique told them, "The theft, I mean." She had been here three years and knew the vast building very well and all that went on in it, or at least, liked to think she did. The two girls listened in fascination as she told them about the ghost who haunted the catacombs beneath their feet and whom no-one had ever seen. Crying, singing, the sound of a violin, doors slamming... and now he seemed to be helping himself to costumes too. It all sounded very exciting to two sixteen year old girls and even Adele seemed to shed her usual shell of cynicism, which was a façade at the best of times anyway.

oOo

A few days later, when they were supposed to be heading for home, Adele quietly led her reluctant friend to a part of the Opera House they had never been in before, down a dark corridor with an unidentifiable smell. She stopped at a black door located under a dusty staircase.

"I don't think we're supposed to be here," Celine said uneasily, "What did you want to show me?"

"See this door here? It leads down to the catacombs!" she replied, "That's where this ghost lives, the fellow they call the Phantom of the Opera! I think we should go and find him, don't you? Just to say hello, and find out what he looks like."

"What? Go and find a ghost?"

"You're not scared are you?"

"N-no... but I don't think we should. What if he's dangerous? One of the girls told me that he's terribly disfigured, like a gargoyle or something, and if you look at his face, you die!" Celine turned very pale as she spoke.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, you can't die just by looking at someone's ugly face. If you could, I'd have died years ago from looking at Gaston."

"Your brother isn't ugly."

"Are you in love with him now, instead of M. Carriere?"

"No, I'm just... well, I just don't think it's a good idea, that's all. We could get lost, for a start. Or the candle could blow out."

Adele sighed. "We'll just go to the bottom of the steps and then if we don't see him or hear him, we'll come straight back up, I promise."

"I don't know…"

"Well if you won't come with me, I'll have to go by myself."

"No, don't do that! Adele, please, let's go home, this corridor is scaring me and it'll be getting dark soon…" She turned to walk away but her friend did not follow her. Instead she opened the door and peeped inside. "Adele, we need to go home, we'll be late for dinner!" she called, watching helplessly as the other girl stepped into the darkness and shut the door behind her.

_I need to find help_ she thought frantically, hurrying away as fast as she could.

oOo

Adele held her candle aloft as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Below her she could see a stone staircase descending down into the catacombs and she tentatively placed her foot on the first one, as though she feared it would not bear her weight. Part of her wanted to turn back although she knew she could not be a coward in front of Celine, not after all her bravado.

As quietly as possible she made her way down the endless steps until eventually the floor beneath her became level, stretching out into a black void. Was this where he lived or was he in some other corner of this underground world? But if he was a ghost, surely he could travel anywhere? She looked around her, seeing only a stone wall on one side of her and on the other a couple of old chests, possibly once used to store costumes.

"Hello?" she called out, sounding braver than she actually felt. "Is anyone there?"

"Is anyone there…" came a reply off in the distance. She gasped. _It's just an echo… _she told herself _Just an echo… _

Her words echoed again, almost mocking her, but this time the sound came from behind her. And now it was to the left of her, and then behind her again. She swallowed and span around, trying to find the source. _How is this happening?_

"Wh-who are you?"

Her heart lurched as her words reverberated through the cavern again.

"Who are you…you…you…" Each word seemed to come from a different direction and from within the walls themselves. With a trembling hand she covered her mouth, terrified of uttering another word.

At that very moment a shadow appeared on the wall ahead of her, a shadow which was not her own. She stepped back with a shriek but there it remained, black and immobile. But that was not all. From a distance came the sound of scratching and squeaking, getting closer all the time. A shape came out of the darkness and she shrieked again, then turned and ran for the stairs.

oOo

Celine turned a corner, then another, trying to remember the way they had come and wishing the building was not quite so large. Down the corridor with the green door and the laundry baskets, turn left, or was it right? Somebody must still be here, someone who would know what to do. Turning another corner, she ran into a solid object, which turned out to be none other than Gerard Carriere himself.

"My goodness, what's the hurry?" he asked in astonishment. "Just a moment; you're from the costume department, aren't you? Haven't you left for home yet?"

"Oh M. Carriere… p-please help…"

"What is it?" he asked more gently, "What's happened?"

Hastily and with a trembling voice she poured out her story about how her friend had gone down below to find the Phantom. M. Carriere closed his eyes for a moment as though to gather his thoughts then asked her to show him the door in question immediately. She could hear him mutter under his breath as she retraced her steps and hoped he would not be angry with her for although she had dearly wanted to have a conversation with him alone, she had never dreamt it would be in these circumstances. As they reached the place, they could hear a voice shouting for help and the sound of footsteps running up the stone stairs. Suddenly the door sprang open and a distraught Adele burst through it, almost colliding with the manager who put his hands on her shoulders to stop her flight.

"Help me! Oh God, help me!"

"Adele, what is it? What did you see?" he asked, a note of panic in his voice. She struggled to get the words out. "Calm down, child, tell me what you saw…"

Breathlessly she blurted out her reply. "Rats… There's dozens of them down there… Rats…and the ghost…"

oOo

In the privacy of M. Carriere's office, a calmer Adele sipped on a glass of water and Celine looked at her with new eyes; her fearless friend was clearly not as fearless as she pretended to be.

"There was a shadow…" she told them quietly, "I definitely saw a shadow, before the rats came. And I think I heard his voice. It was like an echo, but it was him, I know it…"

The manager sipped on his own glass and offered them bombons from a jar he kept in a drawer, but they both refused politely. He sighed and sat back in his chair, apparently deep in thought, before addressing them.

"I need to apologise for not giving you this little chat beforehand but I was rather busy when you joined us a few weeks ago. However, I am told by Madame Mercier that you are good workers and have learned the ropes very quickly, which I am very happy about."

They glanced at each other uncertainly, not sure what was ahead.

He tapped his fingers on the desk, before seeming to think better of it and clasping his hands together instead. "You have obviously heard the rumours about our ghost and there is much you need to know about him. But it can be summarised in this way: "All you need to know is don't go down below.""

The girls smirked a little at this phrase but M. Carriere did not look amused.

"You know, I am aware that some of you think this phantom character is something of a joke, but I can assure you he is not." He sipped on his water again before getting up and walking around his desk, avoiding eye contact with them.

"He has the freedom of this entire building. He moves everywhere, he sees, hears and knows everything. When I first became the manager he spoke to me through the walls, congratulating me on my new role but warning me that he was the true director here. And now he has started stealing items from us. Props, food, clothes have gone missing in the last few years, never to be recovered. You must not make fun of him or underestimate his abilities. Believe me, I have tried to reason with him but he remains in charge here."

As he spoke, both girls could not help but notice the lines on his forehead and the flecks of grey in his dark hair. He sat again, and rubbed his temples, sighing a little. After a while he looked up and dismissed them both quietly, warning Adele once more that she should never venture down below again as she might not be so lucky this time.

Both of them thanked their employer then got up to leave, Adele with her head bowed in rare humility.

oOo

"Thank you for warning them," Erik said quietly as he stared into the fire, "She might have seen me if the rats hadn't scared her."

"No-one will ever find you, I promise you that. But I'm not happy with this latest development, Erik. If you need more clothes, why didn't you just tell me? I'm more than happy to provide you with whatever you need, you know that."

"Yes, but why should I have to depend on you for everything?" He got up with a swirl of his new cloak and walked around, already a tall, imposing figure although he was not yet sixteen.

"Just try not to take so many things all at once, that's all I'm saying," Gerard replied, "You're a popular topic of conversation but they can only take so much…borrowing."

Erik sighed. "All right, I'll ask you the next time. And are you sure this Adele, or whatever her name is, won't come back down here again?"

"Quite sure, not as long as there are rats living down here anyway. Not to mention that convenient _echo_." He eyed Erik suspiciously but he was intent on avoiding his "uncle's" gaze. "Anyway, she'll remember tonight for a long time. But I was thinking…perhaps I could send her a note?"

"A note?"

"It would be from you in theory, of course, but I can write and deliver it. Just something to remind her that that this is your realm and yours alone."

"A note from the ghost… I like the sound of that."

"I'll see to it first thing in the morning. It'll give them all something to talk about in the costume department, that's for sure. It's amazing how the gossips can spread rumours about you better than I can."

Erik watched as his uncle got up to prepare for bed, wondering why he was doing all this for him. But he also knew that without the help of this well-meaning guardian, he would have been discovered by now and he felt a surge of gratitude. Going over to the bookshelf he located the old book about ventriloquism that he had been studying every night, to give himself a respite from music. Who needed bookshops when the Opera House was home to such a variety of interesting books? It was turning out to be a very enjoyable hobby and one that he could have plenty of fun with.

And in the privacy of his bedroom Gerard knew exactly what book his son was reading at that moment for it was the same one he had been looking at for the past few weeks when he believed himself to be alone. Likewise, he knew that the voice Adele heard was no echo, and he wondered about this latest skill and where it would lead to. As he heard Erik get ready for bed, he thought about how comfortable his son was here in these dark caverns and how readily he had accepted them as his entire world. And all Gerard's thoughts were leading him to one inescapable conclusion.

His time here in the phantom's lair was coming to an end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Just to let you know - this chapter is set a few weeks after the last one. There will probably be just one more chapter after this, which will be set a few years later. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed so far!**

The fire was blazing away, casting an eerie shadow of Erik's cloaked form on the stone wall of the cavern as he silently walked over to the bookshelf and selected a book on the history of opera.

"Have you been studying the geography book I gave you?" Gerard asked him, putting down his cup of coffee.

"Music is far more interesting," Erik replied dismissively. He sat and began leafing through the book, much to Gerard's irritation.

"I told you weeks ago to study that chapter on weathering and erosion and to answer the questions at the end."

"I did. It doesn't interest me." The curtness of Erik's reply made Gerard exhale impatiently, but he gathered himself together and tried to sound more jovial.

"Well, maybe you would like to recite the capital cities of Europe for me? I remember you learned them really quickly when you were younger."

"Why would I want to do that? It's not like I'll ever be able to visit any of those places, is it?"

Gerard longed to contradict him but could not offer him any false hope. "To be honest, I haven't visited many places myself. I thought you might like to learn them, just... well, just for the sake of knowledge really."

"Why do you even care if I know these things? I'm not a child and I don't need your lessons any more; I can learn by myself just fine. And I don't _want_ to travel anywhere: _this _is my world and it's all I need." He waved his arm to indicate the vast cavern and the lagoon beyond it; already he was planning some… adjustments to this sparsely furnished underground realm. Walking over to the little table beside the bookshelf he picked up the globe that Gerard had salvaged from an old production of Faust.

"Who needs any of these places?" he asked contemptuously, spinning the globe around in a furious circle. It got faster and faster and just as Gerard thought it would spin off its frame and on to the stone floor, Erik put his hand on it to stop it and tossed it on the table without a care in the world. "Learning capital cities!" he sneered, "_I'll_ decide what I learn from now on."

"I don't care for that tone, young man," Gerard told him sternly. The boy just stared at him as Gerard realised how close he was to revealing his secret. And yet he could not allow Erik to speak to him like this; his own father would certainly not have allowed it when he was that age.

"Why do you care for anything I do? Why do you live here anyway?"

"You know why. I used to know your mother and there was no-one else to take care of you. Now, there's something I-"

"Did you know my father too?"

Gerard swallowed as he felt his complexion turn redder and hoped that the darkness would hide it.

"No, he was dead by the time you were born. I never met him," he replied quickly, keeping his back to the masked boy as he tidied the music sheets that were scattered on the rug.

Erik gave a contemptuous sound. "Just like I thought. So why should I care for anything up there? I don't even have any family, there's no-one who cares for me or even knows I exist, except as a ghost." He walked straight up to Gerard, who was trying to clear the cups and saucers away. Nervously he took a step back. "And you're just living here because… I don't know, you promised my mother you would, or something. So stop pretending you're my tutor. Stop pretending I need to know about the world up there because I don't. All I know is that they love beauty and perfection. There's no place for me there and never will be, never."

Gerard did not interrupt him. He rose slowly and looked at his son with new and fearful eyes, knowing at last that he had become part of this dark, hidden world just as he had always been destined to. _Perhaps it's best_ he reasoned to himself. _Perhaps it's_ _better than having him wanting to travel and then enduring people staring at him._ He watched in silence as his son sat in the armchair and calmed himself a little before opening the book.

"You know, there's something I need to discuss with you," he began at last. Erik looked up.

"I've been looking for somewhere to live… and today I think I found the right place. It's small but it's cosy and not far from here. It's just what I need, really, and the neighbourhood is nice enough. Of course, I won't be moving straight away, there are lots of dull, legal things to sort out first but I just wanted you to know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You see, I think I need to live up above again, like I used to. And… after all, you are nearly sixteen and I was working by the time I was your age. I'm sure you'll be fine, you know. You can cook already and…" His voice trailed off, as he realised how much he was rambling. "Erik, you don't mind, do you?"

Erik looked at the floor but only for a moment. "Of course not," he replied, his voice steady.

"I'll still be the manager of course, so I'll be here every day, or at least, up above."

Erik was silent for a moment, rubbing his finger along the spine of his book.

"Uncle Gerard? Will you… I mean, I'm sorry I lost my temper just now. I shouldn't have said those things. You've always looked after me and I feel ashamed."

"It's quite all right, you know. Most young people do things like that. But I really miss living above the ground and well, I can't live here forever, can I?"

"You will… you will come and visit me, won't you?"

"Of course. Just because I won't live here anymore doesn't mean you won't see me. I'll visit as often as I can and find out what provisions you need and all that type of thing. And I'll keep those rumours going, don't you worry. But this is your home, as you've said, and well, I feel like I've overstayed my welcome."

"You will always be welcome here," Erik replied quietly, and Gerard found himself trying to avoid those eyes which looked at him with such tenderness.

oOo

The final day crept up on them both and Erik watched while Gerard packed his trunk, the same one he had packed several years ago when he left for Paris. Just as he had finished, he felt Erik's hand on his shoulder and jumped.

"Sorry," Erik mumbled, stepping away from him. Gerard merely nodded, shutting his trunk quickly. He took a final look around, glad to be returning to the surface after all this time. Soon he would no longer have to spend his lunchtimes in the park in order to feel sunlight on his face. And yet it would not be as easy as he had always believed it would be. He knew he could not simply walk away but that something would always bind him to this odd but likeable young man.

Erik stood at the bottom of the stone steps as his guardian and only friend started to make his way upwards.

"Uncle?" he called out. His uncle retraced his steps and Erik stepped forward so that he was standing in front of him. With a little hesitation he put his arms out in front of him a little, then dropped them by his sides. Immediately, Gerard put his hand out and after a moment's hesitation Erik took it in his own and shook it.

"Good luck," he told him with a grin.

"Thank you, Erik. I'll be back soon, after I've settled into my new home."

He watched while Gerard began his long ascent to the world above, until his tall, imposing frame was out of sight. Then he sat on the bottom step and put his head in his hands, with nothing around him but the darkness and the deathly silence.


	4. Chapter 4

As a young child and with nothing to contradict his wild fancies, Erik used to imagine that Gerard had appeared out of nowhere, fully grown, in order to take care of him.

As a grown adult, he could smile at this notion, having gotten to know his benevolent protector a little better in the intervening years. Only a little, mind you. There was so much he did not know about him still, so much that remained hidden in those troubled eyes. And the amusing thing was that the wealthy patrons of the Opera House did not know him either, despite all their boasting and pretentious claims that he was "a dear friend".

One of Erik's favourite activities was to hide in the darkest corners of the grand atrium before a performance, watching all the patrons socialise, discuss business and exchange petty gossip, all dressed in the latest fashions and sipping from tall glasses of wine. And there among them was Gerard; Gerard the blacksmith's son who had surely never dreamt of mingling among the elite of Paris like this when he was growing up.

"How wonderful to see you again, Madame! I hope you are enjoying the evening?"

"Yes, the food is quite delicious, is it not? I will certainly give your compliments to the kitchen staff, you are very kind."

He could always recognise Gerard's voice, the voice that was so similar to his own, in any crowd.

"Good evening, Monsieur le vicomte. I trust your visit to London was an enjoyable one?"

"And how is your lovely daughter, monsieur? Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. Please send her my wishes for a speedy recovery."

"Yes, the musicians are very good tonight, aren't they? I'm glad you're enjoying yourselves."

On and on, the same people, the same compliments, the same narrow small talk. How did Gerard keep it up all evening without wanting to run into an empty room and scream? That neat little bow perfected by years of practice, that jovial, slightly unctuous tone, the little chuckle that followed his weak jokes, or those of others. Who on earth was this man, the man they all knew as Gerard Carriere, the manager of the finest Opera House in France?

This was not the Gerard he knew, that was for sure. The Gerard he knew was once a naughty little boy who stole apples from the orchard in the vast du Plessis estate and got a hiding from his father when he was found out. He had helped to forge the iron gates at the entrance of that very estate, and many others things too, at an age when most of these visitors would still have been at school. He was that regular, nosy visitor who came to discuss Opera House business with him and ensure that he was eating regular meals. And most of all he was that busy, harried friend who would collapse into an armchair in Erik's lair and unburden himself of all the problems and worries he was experiencing, every week without fail.

Well, to be truthful he did not come as often these days. Running the opera house took up a lot of his time, of course, and there were all those parties at the local bistro with the members of the company and the various gatherings to which he was invited. But no matter. Those visits, regular or otherwise, were his favourite times, for this was when the true Gerard would emerge, complaining about lazy employees or demanding patrons, or perhaps revealing a little vignette about his childhood escapades. Whenever a member of the du Plessis family visited Erik would tease him about how they might still want recompense for their missing apples, and it did Erik's heart the world of good to hear his friend laugh.

"If he makes any trouble for you, just let me know and I'll put glue in his hat," Erik teased him one day.

"And I have no doubt you would do it," Gerard murmured in return.

True, he knew only snippets of Gerard's early life but it was enough for him to build up a picture of someone far more human than any of those people could ever know.

oOo

Erik had seen the de Chagny's around the Opera House before of course; they were among its most regular and most influential patrons. He had seen their daughters here before with their husbands but the Comte and Comtesse seemed fond of Gerard and always made it their business to talk to him before the performance. Tonight there was someone with them; a tall young man with blonde hair who was tugging at his bow tie.

"Philippe, leave it alone, please."

"But Mother, it's so uncomfortable! Do I have to wear it?"

_Ah, this is Philippe, their son_ Erik thought to himself. This was the child that Gerard had told him about, somewhere in the recesses of his memory. He looked at the young man again and realised that it was only his height that made him look older. He was clearly no more than fourteen or fifteen and although he had his father's blonde hair he definitely had his mother's features, giving him a soft, almost feminine appearance. When he spoke again, Erik recognised that deepening adolescent voice that he had once had, with its intermittent squeaking. After a little while, the boy gave up trying to adjust his bow tie and took in his opulent surroundings, looking around him in fascination.

Erik could never quite explain his almost instant dislike for this young man who seemed harmless enough in truth. It was not his expensive clothes or his aristocratic bearing which irritated him, for Erik was fond of dressing well himself. It may have been that perfect face, so unlike his own, or the fact that he had a mother and a father, or that he was so young, with his life ahead of him and the certainty of finding happiness with someone he loved, something the Opera Ghost could never imagine. Or it may have been the way Gerard made straight for the little family, greeting them like the old friends they were, when he had spent so little time down below lately.

"How lovely to see you, monsieur and Madame! I trust you are both well?"

The Comte shook his hand warmly. "Very well indeed, thank you Carriere. I must say this is a wonderful gathering. An excellent choice of wine, as usual. Oh, and by the way, this is our son Philippe, who is enjoying a night at the Opera for the first time this evening. Philippe, this is the manager of this fine opera house, M. Gerard Carriere. You've heard us talk about him of course?"

Philippe stepped forward with confidence, already aware of his place in the world.

"Of course, Father. It's a pleasure to meet you, M. Carriere."

Gerard gave his customary bow. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, Philippe. I saw you at your sister's wedding last year, of course, but didn't get the chance to speak to you. I couldn't believe how grown up you looked, and my goodness, now you're spending your first night at the opera! How old are you now, might I ask?"

"Fourteen, sir, but I will be fifteen next month," he replied proudly.

"Nearly fifteen! My goodness, it only seems like yesterday when you were born. You're making me feel very old, you know!"

The little group chuckled at this, before moving on to other subjects. Erik watched as Philippe grew increasingly bored. His mother was eulogising about how well he was doing at the military academy and how he had become so interested in music over the last few years.

"He plays the piano whenever he gets the chance, you know, and he's always asking about these productions. It all started a few years ago. We had a gardener at the time, from Sweden originally, and he and his daughter were always-"

She stopped suddenly as her husband cleared his throat and before asking about the new tenor who was already very popular, and the subject was not broached again. Gerard thought no more of it; he was too busy watching Philippe who was discreetly trying to loosen his bow tie again. He leaned towards him.

"They really are a nuisance aren't they? Bow ties, I mean, not parents."

Philippe nodded, grinning.

That light hearted remark annoyed Erik no end as he observed the scene from behind a nearby pillar. It was as though a tiny glimpse of the real Gerard had slipped through and he did not feel quite as privileged as before.

He watched as his guardian questioned this boy politely about school and his favourite pieces of music. As their conversation progressed he could not understand why his jaw was clenched in irritation at how easily his only friend chatted away or how he requested a glass of lemonade for Philippe because "you must be bored drinking water". That was one thing he did admire about Gerard; he did not see opera as the preserve of the older generation and was always happy to welcome the younger visitors and make them feel at home. But still…

Gerard spoke to a few other people after that, but before long the performance was due to begin and the room began to empty out. Slowly but surely, the procession of colour and finery made its way into the large auditorium, and after the lights were extinguished Erik emerged out of his hiding place to wander around, the smell of perfume and cigars still wafting in the air.

Feeling a presence behind him he turned to see the shadowy but familiar figure of Gerard standing at the doorway, the last to leave. _Did he see me earlier?_ he wondered, knowing that neither of them would bring up the subject in any case, just as they never discussed the many items he "borrowed" any more. He merely nodded in the direction of the shadow then turned to leave for Box Five by another door, leaving his friend behind in the dark room.

**This will probably be the last chapter unless I can come up with some more inspiration. I just wanted to give a few glimpses into Erik and Gerard's life while Erik was growing up and in this chapter I wanted to try and explain why Erik resented Philippe so much. He tells Christine "He is not worthy of you" so there was clearly some resentment even before Christine arrived.**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed this story. **


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